


The Boy Who Wept For the Hanging Ducks of Peking

by whaleofatime



Series: The boys who walk close together [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: China, M/M, Post Olympic Career, Why we can't take Makoto to nice places, World's Most Dedicated Marine Biologist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaleofatime/pseuds/whaleofatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a hunt for a new species of dogfish in the wet markets of Beijing, Haru has got his hands full with fish guts and a hopeless Makoto. Despite tempting tanks and questionable food hygiene, though, it still ends up being a pretty good day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Who Wept For the Hanging Ducks of Peking

God bless Makoto’s big, soft heart, home to a million burdens people leave like rusty forgotten bicycles. What a sweetheart! What a dear!

What an awful travel companion. Which is actually a sign of emotional growth on Makoto's part, sortof, which is why Haru holds his breath like he's got a face full of water and holds his tongue, as the fine bones in his wrist are slowly ground down with the force of Makoto’s squeezing, the fear of Everything shining like glass shards on green plush carpeting.

Perhaps the wet markets of Beijing are not the best tourist attraction to subject the easily-terrified Makoto to. Haru hadn’t really meant to bring the man along to where there’s a crush of humanity between aisles manned by the murderers of edible animals (this is China, magnificent China; human’s probably the only thing too exotic to be on display). However, he’s here for work and Makoto had suggested that since he was heading to the marketplace instead of to a lab, they should go together.

Unsurprisingly, Haru had said “Do as you like,”, regretting it whole-heartedly about 4 seconds later, and now they’re slipping on mossy concrete as various animals make various sounds on their way to meet their various ends.

It’s a little gruesome, but hey, can’t die without being alive, right? Or some suitably poignant sentiment. Haru's here to hunt down specimens on what is thought to be a new species of dogfish, and to do that he has to get his hands dirty (can’t really see the fractionally upturned snout or count the gill arches from a distance, after all) as Makoto turns paler and paler.

"At least," Haru mutters mostly to himself as he withdraws his hand from a Tub of Mystery teeming with Creatures from the Great Unknown for the 17th time today, "everything’s fresh". He’s got 3 samples in the cooler Makoto’s carrying, and one more would be great. It just depends on whether or not his luck carries through before the green of Makoto’s face comes too close to the green of his eyes.

Haru peels off thick rubber gloves that reach up to his elbows, easily ignoring the grumbles of the fishmonger whose tub he’s just assaulted. He turns to get a better look at his companion’s face to measure the depths of Makoto’s discomfort.

Haru nods to himself. Three’s plenty.

He drops his gloves into his kitbag, and lightly touches Makoto’s cheek with a chilled hand.

It gets the point across. The smile that slowly spreads across Makoto’s face is like the crawl of spring dragging in its wake the delicate scent of flowers (crocuses bloom in the damned dimples of his cheek). They don’t hold hands, but Haru breaks the waves of humanity via a stunning apathy for other people and a tremendous willingness to resort to elbows to make sure Makoto doesn’t get swamped (he is the man carrying my dogfish, yes).

They break out onto a big road, and Makoto takes deep, gulping breaths of smog that happily reeks of diesel instead of blood and moss. Haru is calm as anything, and eyes the food stalls nearby with equal parts interest and concern. His seniors have warned him to avoid anywhere that sells food without an evident supply of fresh water on pain of too-intimate relationships with sinks and toilets, and Haru’s fine with a too-intimate relationship with just Makoto, yes.

Resisting temptation isn't hard, to be honest. The effort of calling up the few Mandarin phrases he’s set aside for such occasions is a pain, when he’s got pickled mackerel sandwiches nestled comfortably in his kitbag. Have to keep an eye out for Makoto, though, boy’s got as much survival instinct as a spring lamb chewing on rosemary in a village of the starved.

The thought, unfortunately, comes a moment too late; an elderly lady whose eyes glint like gems behind the lines of age has somehow managed to convey to Makoto her desire for him to buy her wares, and like a grade-A dope Makoto’s only too happy to hand money over for MYSTERY SOUP.

Haru isn't left with many choices; with the lady looking on, Makoto is 100% likely to down the soup even if Haru tells him it’s on pain of crippling diarrhea. For the same reason, he can’t even just slap the bowl out of Makoto’s hands, because Makoto would just apologetically buy another one and down that.

Haru’s options are limited. They aren't inside a building, so he can’t casually set off the fire alarm and evacuate Makoto while enjoying indoor rain. He has to be Tactful. He has to be Thoughtful.

And more than both of those, he has to be really really quick, as the lady ladles out the soup with mystery meat floating in it.

Off a little to Makoto’s side is a fishmonger selling high-quality live seafood, and Haru thumbs at the waistband of his jeans in thought. The jammers-under-everything phase had ended, quiet and neat, along with his professional swimming career. These days, he’s more reliant on Speedos, or swim trunks with pretty patterns if he reckons Makoto’s due a nice surprise.

Beady black eyes stare back at him, in what looks like Solidarity, Understanding, and Acceptance, thank you very much lobster-kun.

Mind made up, Haru smoothly brushes past Makoto, dropping his kit bag by the startled man’s feet, smoothly ripping off his shirt in a move that he hasn't had an occasion to make in a long time, but it feels as freeing as it always has.

Probably, the fishmonger has heard about Haru and his exploits in his search for the right kind of dogfish, green-eyed giant by his side. Maybe it’s all down to an elderly man feeling suitably concerned to see a young man stripping and heading for his stall at great speed, but the mister with his bent spine and arms like corded steel pulls out a broom from behind the counter and looks up to a bit of murdering.

Haru just about has enough time to wonder if the kanji character for crabs the animal and crabs the the STD are the same, before there’s a clattering sound of bowl hitting counter and a strong arm snags him around the waist.

His pants are halfway down his legs by now, and as Makoto tries to both restrain Haru and hide behind him from the hollering fishmonger, Haru congratulates himself on the job well done.

Makoto whimpers when he hears the crrck! crrrck! crrrck! of smartphone cameras going, but he’s too occupied with balancing Haru, the kit bag and the box of samples while trying to ignore the connotations of the little silver lightning-bolts running ragged down a pair of short, fantastically printed swim trunks (it stands for You are going to get so disgustingly spoiled tonight, and that Makoto knows by experience, mmm) to feel too much shame.

Haru tilts his head back, looking up and blinking with faux-innocence radiating out. It doesn't work, not even for a split second, but it wasn't supposed to, anyways.

"Let’s get back to the hotel, Haru-chan, we’re making a scene."

"We could make a bigger one if I could get my clothes off," Haru points out as the acting Voice of Reason.

Makoto laughs, no one is in danger of food poisoning, and as always Haru feels most comfortable when he’s in swimwear and not much else. He huffs at Makoto’s whine of complaint, and pulls his clothes back on, taking his sweet time to pull up his pants so that the image of lightning is imprinted in what is quite likely the world’s prettiest (but maybe also emptiest) head.

Food stalls and guts in drains are all but forgotten　when he’s nice and neat again, turned around to face Makoto.

Their eyes meet, and they’re just left staring, ridiculous and fond.

They might be in the middle of a busy thoroughfare, with bits of fish stuck to shoes and dogfishes hanging out in a box nearby, but it’s as good a time as any to just take a moment and think, wow. Just, wow. With maybe an even quieter,　that’s all my luck for this lifetime, then (without even a trace of regret).

It’s like, Haru thinks to himself while absently rubbing his waistband, we got struck by lightning (nice one, Nanase!).

Makoto bursts out laughing, like all the Fond couldn't be contained in his body and had to come out and wash over Haru.

"I think the phrase is ‘thunderstruck’, Haru, but I might need to take a closer look." 

At a dictionary or Haru's choice of underwear? Regardless, Makoto attempts to waggle his eyebrows seductively, but mostly it looks like eels freaking the hell out.

Lucky thing Haru’s a marine biologist, and spasming eels over sea-green eyes are so thoroughly his kink it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

They stay stuck in a hell of a Kodak moment until a bicycle comes barreling by with crates of live squawking chickens on its back making a din, and the spell snaps and Haru resumes dragging Makoto back, fully intending to cede control over the bathtub to the dogfish samples for a while as long as they don’t bother him in bed.

Smog in his lungs and a grin firmly hidden in his soul, Haru gets himself a little excited at the prospect of messing up Makoto and have him moaning loud enough to challenge the noise of the market.

Everyone’s got to have dreams, after all.

And Haru’s dream right now is to finally find a new species of a marine organism to name after Makoto. His dream for right-right-now, well.

God bless stylish swimming wear, really.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Hope this was a cheery easy read. Just wanted to say, with Nepal trying desperately to deal with the aftermath of an earthquake, that I will write stuff in exchange for your donations! Hit up the charity of your choice, help Nepal out to whatever extent you can, and drop me a line and I'll come up with something full of passion and questionable quality to show thanks. Get me on tumblr at [andthensomelion](http://andthensomelion.tumblr.com/), or on livejournal as [mugen_edamame](http://mugen-edamame.livejournal.com/)~! I'm awful and good-natured, promise.


End file.
